


Imagine Dean Finding you Crying in the Impala

by MstngSali1



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 03:38:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3554630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MstngSali1/pseuds/MstngSali1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a one-shot I wrote a while back off a prompt from the Tumblr page "Supernatural Imagines".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imagine Dean Finding you Crying in the Impala

How long had it been? Three, no, four years? It felt like an eternity since you’d been touched, let alone anything else. Sitting in the dark, pondering your situation, the truth of the matter was, you were lonely. Sure, you’d had your pick of men at the bar that night. But the only man you had wanted to spend time with had picked up a girl of his own. 

She’d left Dean’s room hours ago, with a smile on her face. Sitting in the back seat of the Impala, you’d watched her go and the pain had eased a little knowing she wasn’t going to spend the night in his arms. 

You’d been hunting with the Winchesters for a while. Enough time to have your own room at the bunker. Enough time to fall head over heels in love with him. He was an amazing hunter; calculating, skilled, driven. He was also caring, passionate, and broken… seriously broken. There had been so many late night talks when you had both had too much to drink. Dean was guarded, always careful not to say too much, but had said more than you were sure he meant to. He’d started to open up after you had. Telling him about the road that led you to hunting helped him realize he could trust you with certain secrets. Once he understood that those private thoughts were safe with you, your friendship blossomed. 

One night at the bunker, while listening to some Floyd playing quietly in the background and nursing a bottle of Jack, he told you about the night his mother died. Of course, you already knew the facts of what happened. The Winchesters were legend in hunting circles. But hearing it from him made it real. Even though he was only four, the details he remembered were vivid. He told you, he knew that night, he had to take care of Sam. No one ever said it to him, he just knew. With slurred words, he told you that no matter how many people he saved, he would always feel empty. He told you in the end, he knew he would wind up alone. 

You helped him to bed that night. He could walk… barely and not in a straight line but he could walk. You got him sitting on his bed and knelt on the floor to take off his boots. He let you help, smiling the entire time. He kicked his boots off and laid down on top of the covers. You turned to leave the room and he caught your arm, pulling you down to sit next to him. Without a word, his eyes never leaving yours, he sat up and kissed you gently. He was about to deepen the kiss when you pulled away. Tasting sweet whiskey on his breath reminded you that this wasn’t real. This was Dean being drunk and feeling vulnerable. You didn’t want things to change. You didn’t want your professional relationship to be awkward because of one night of drunken sex. 

“No, Dean. Not tonight,” was all you could manage to say. 

He lowered his eyes, scooted down the bed, laid down and went to sleep. You could tell he was upset but he didn’t understand. And now was not the time to try and explain. You decide to wait until he’s sobered up to talk. 

But that next morning, while nursing a serious hangover, he hadn’t acted any differently. Deciding not to bring it up again, things went back to the way they had been. Except that, you had changed. That’s when you knew you loved him. 

Over the next several months, your talks had become few and far between. The boys were always hunting and you’d get left behind to help Kevin with research. You missed that quiet time with Dean when it was the two of you and very few walls. 

Returning to the present, the thought of never sharing those evenings again sparked another fit of tears. You had your head buried in your hands and did not see the figure approaching the car. The rear door opened and in a flash, you had a pistol pointed toward your head. Realizing who it was, Dean lowered the weapon and climbed in next to you. Clad only in a t-shirt and jeans and rubbing sleep out of his eyes, he had the nerve to look annoyed.

“Why are you sitting in my car at 3:30 in the morning?”

After a big sigh, he looked over at you and his annoyance changed to concern quickly, “Hey, you ok?”

You nodded, not being sure what else to do. 

“You don’t look ok. You look like you’ve been crying… a lot. What’s with the tears?” He said, leaning toward you with a smirk. His face was nonchalant but his eyes were kind. 

You decide to play it off. “I had a bad dream. I came out here because I didn’t want to wake Sam.”

He shook his head at you slightly, “Nope. Not buying it. I’ve seen you take stab wounds and barely flinch. There’s something more than a bad dream going on here.”

Dean had a point. Physical pain was one thing. The weight on your heart was a lot worse than cuts or broken bones. 

“I haven’t had enough to drink to talk about this,” you admit to him. 

He smiled, “There’s a bottle in my room. Come on, let’s go get warm. It’s freezing out here.”

You let him lead you from the car to his room. Once there, he wrapped you in a blanket and poured you a drink. Sitting on the rumpled bed, you take a big swig from the paper cup he handed you. It tasted terrible but the burn made you brave. He sat down next to you, sipping from his own cup, with a quizzical look on his face. He was going to see through any crap you could come up with. Just tell him the truth, you decide. He can learn to deal with it. You’d been dealing with it for months. 

“So,” he prods, “you gonna tell me what’s going on or should I guess?”

You put your now empty cup on the nightstand and wrap your arms around your knees. Taking a deep breath, you blurt it out. 

“You left the bar tonight with her, not me. That’s why I was in the Impala, crying.”

You dared not look at him. How he felt would be written on his face. 

“Hey, look at me.” he whispered.

You steeled yourself and looked into his eyes. What you saw there caused your chest to cave in. 

“I’m sorry. But I don’t feel the same way,” he shrugged, running his hand over his face, “You are my friend, damn near my best friend.” 

Dean stood and began to pace the room, gathering his thoughts, “That night I got drunk and kissed you, was a mistake. I shouldn’t have.” 

He stopped and turned to you, “I’m sorry… so, sorry. People who get close to me wind up dead.” 

Quickly walking to the door, he turned and looked at you with a broken expression and left. 

So that was it then. The man, who you would literally die for, did not love you. You begin to rock in place. There was no reason to stay. Just being near him would be excruciating and things would never be the same between you. Time to move on, you thought. With that decision made, you grab the bottle from the nightstand and start the arduous process of sewing back together the pieces of your shattered heart. 

 

Dean hadn’t heard from her in a long time. After she decided to leave, there were the random texts, making sure that the other was ok but nothing substantial. There were nights, when the liquor flowed heavily, that he regretted what he had said to her. He knew that when it came right down to it, he had lied. He did have feelings for her. She’d been there when he needed her. She listened when no one else had. She had been his friend. And after everything he and Sammy had been through, friends were in short supply. But his life did not have room for romantic love. She would just wind up getting hurt because of him. He couldn’t live with himself if something happened to her because of who he was.

He’d tried texting her and when those went unanswered, he had called. Her cell was disconnected. Garth didn’t even have any information, which was odd. He and Sam were working a case so he asked Kevin to do a little digging and see what he could come up with. He was pulling over to get some gas when his cell rang.

“Kevin, got anything for me?”

There was an extended pause before Kevin spoke.

“Dean,” he said with a hitch in his voice, “she’s dead.”

The blood in his veins turned to ice. 

“What? How?”

Kevin whispered, “Car accident. She fell asleep at the wheel and crashed into a tree. Died instantly.”

Dean’s vision went fuzzy around the edges and he leaned on the Impala to keep him upright. After all the hunts they had been on together, she got taken out by her own stubbornness. 

“I’m so sorry, Dean. She was really amazing.” He heard the words but they didn’t really register.

“Thanks Kevin.” 

He disconnected the call and simply stood still for a moment. She was gone. He was never going to hear her laugh again. Never see her eyes heat in anger or flash with intelligence when she saw right through his pretenses or gaze adoringly from across the room. 

He finished filling up and hung the nozzle back on the pump. When he got back in the car, Sam was awake and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“What did Kevin find out?”

Dean looked at his brother but did not speak. He didn’t have to.

Sam’s face contorted with grief. “How?” was all he said.

Dean saw his reflection in his brother’s eyes. He didn’t recognize his own face. He whispered, “Does it matter?”

Starting the car, he put her in gear and pulled out of the station, heading toward the bunker. His tortured thoughts turned to warm eyes, Pink Floyd and what could have been.


End file.
